The Adventures of Shakira & John
by Sparkles1590
Summary: Shakira & John are first introduced to each other during an unfortunate attack. The two continue to solve crimes (Inspired by Sherlock Holmes & others) together. John keeps their story as an archive of the adventures the encounter whilst solving the mysteries of London. Rated T for future chapters. Discontinued and being reworked. Visit my new profile; Psychoria.


31 May 2017 - It was a crisp summer evening, precisely 9 pm. I just got off my flight after being relocated from Mexico. During the flight, I told my dear friend, Chad Smith, I was serving in World War III and was shot by a stray bullet while trying to move a wounded soldier. My friend and I were to meet at London City Airport. I had looked around quite frantically, and my brain had just started shutting off. Too bad I hadn't gotten the chance to sleep during my flight, but maybe I should have eaten something on the plane as well. I had stood in my place, carrying my heavy luggage for about what felt like an hour. I sat down at a nearby bench to rest. However, before I could shut my eyes, I was confronted by Chad, who had gotten out of a black cab after paying for his trip. He still seemed the same, his hazel hair was still combed messily and his bangs still covered the middle of his face, although, I could see his hazel eyes so I suppose he isn't completely covering his face like in grade school. Chad was wearing a grey suit with a single gold-plated button, which he paired with grey trousers of a darker hue. He was wearing a red tie, which quite frankly was something he claimed he would never wear. My friend seemed to be beckoning the cabbie to stay as he was picking me up. Convinced, the man stayed and pulled out his phone. I followed my friend to the cabbie, he appeared to be quite menacing, or rather creepy, like a stalker. His hair was quite shaggy, but he looked overall messy. I didn't nor would I, trust him.

"Where to?" he asked.

"Victoria Embankment, Scotland Yard," my friend replied. The cabman nodded in compliance and began to drive. For about half of our trip, we sat in silence, the cabbie creepily staring at me through the rearview mirror. Then my friend began to talk to me, "Glad you're back in London."

"I would say," I answered, "my commander hated me or something."

"Well, that must have been terrible," my friend responded.

"It was. I shouldn't talk about him behind his back though. You never know," I looked ahead of me. I think the driver was listening in on our conversation. I turned back to Chad, "One of the soldiers were brutally killed. Or so we think."

"Who?" Smith began to gain more interest. He leaned in towards me.

"His name was Antonio Dawson, a sergeant," I then fell silent. Good god, that was the most horrifying thing I've seen on the battlefield, "When he was found, he was no longer recognisable. We had to identify him by his tag," then silence fell into the cab. I stared down at the cab's floor with my head in my hands. Smith placed a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," Chad said.

"At least I'm here," I replied, "I wouldn't want to be him."

"Yeah..." Smith responded. We arrived at New Scotland Yard, the HQ for the detectives and constables of Westminster. We stepped out of the cab and Chad leaned in towards the man and gave him a few banknotes. "Anyways. Let me show you your office," he stated, turning to me. I followed him down an adjacent hall to an office door labelled A9. He let me peer through the door, it was unoccupied at the moment, but I could tell someone used the office. There were cyan curtains on the windows and I saw a shiny, aluminium kettle sitting on a filing cabinet parallel to two desks. One of the desks, the occupied one, was stacked with papers and seemingly paramount documents. Though, what caught my eye was an adorable little panda figure sitting on one of the desks. I then left the cubicle with Chad.

"Are you hungry?" he inquired.

"Oh yes," I replied. We got into the cab.

"Where to?" the new cabbie man asked.

"96 Marylebone Lane, The Ivy Cafe," my friend affirmed. Oh nice, a cafe. I got somewhat excited as my friend smiled at me, "Afterwards, I want you to meet someone. Them and my girlfriend. If she doesn't have a night shift..."

"Girlfriend..?" I gaped, staring back at him, "When did you find a girlfriend?"

"Well, I've been in a relationship for about a year now," he smiled.

"That's nice," I said. Damn, my bro had a girlfriend? Well, we got to the cafe and my friend paid the cabbie. We stepped inside and found a seat near the window. I stared around curiously. Then, while we waited for our order, he pulled out his phone. Chad was texting a person he called: 'Detective W.' I curiously stared at their conversation, my friend did not seem to mind. Perhaps she wasn't my flatmate as he never mentioned me. Smith soon put his phone away after asking her if she was still at Scotland Yard. She never answered him though, and he seemed quite alert. We ate our dinner, I bought a nice sandwich and bottled water and my friend got a slice of vegetarian pizza and a pastry. We stayed for almost a half hour and when we finished, we took another cab. He told the cabbie he wanted to go to 221b Baker Street. Then I suddenly remembered an article on the address. It was the home of a detective, whose name I could not recall. Chad fumbled around in his pocket, probably trying to locate his key. But he could not find it. The door slowly opened, and my friend and I stepped back. We were met by a friendly looking, young woman, whose face was round with black eyes that glowed in the lantern light. She wore a lavender dress that fell to her knees, it had long sleeves, and a thick ribbon around the waist. She wore a small pearl necklace that was becoming dull. Her jet black hair was in a pixie cut.

"Hello boys," she stated.

"Good evening, Mrs Hudson," Chad leaned in and hugged the woman. Then she turned to me.

"You must be Mr Glenn," she smiled.

"Yes. That's me," I responded.

"Mr Smith told me much about you," she removed two keys from the pocket on her apron and placed them upon my hand, "Here are your house keys."

"Oh, thank you. Mrs Hudson," I answered. She then beckoned us in and closed the door behind us. I stared around the room, quite in awe of the amazing interior of the building. The stairs on the left side of the building were crafted from beautiful walnut wood. Parallel to the stairs was an elegant sitting area with sofas and chairs that looked Victorianesque. They were made from fine golden fabric. There were also pillows embroidered with golden, ornate designs over a dark red casing.

"Has the detective returned yet?" my friend asked. His eyes bolted around the room.

"She did for a minute but then she left. I thought I saw someone across the road." Mrs Hudson responded, "I think they followed her in a black cab while she was leaving."

"Well. I hope she returns safely," my friend looked back at me and he gestured to me, so I followed him. We climbed up the stairs, there were 17 of them. Though, he skipped the second to last step. When I stepped on it, the step creaked dreadfully. No wonder he skipped it. I followed my friend through the door. For some reason, I heard footsteps behind us and I turned to look into the hall. There was nothing but a mere potted plant which heightened my suspicion. My friend tried to turn on the light, but the power was out. He went into the kitchen and lit a small candle and lay it on a beautiful, mahogany desk which was also stacked high with documents. The small firelight revealed many papers and music scores strewn across the floor. It was as if someone had broken in or someone was hastily looking for something among the papers. The room was quite organized besides that. The wallpaper was of a tan colour, with incriminating bulletholes in the wall near the door in the shape of the initials S.W. The bookshelves against the wall near the leftmost window were a dull brown and held many books and archives. The fireplace in the middle of the two bookshelves was made also made of mahogany. There was a skull resting on the edge of the mantel next to it, was a pocket knife the penetrated several notes. In front of the fireplace was a black coffee table with a tray of tea the sat in the middle. An elegant violin that was in good condition rest on another little table in front of the rightmost bookshelf. There was a green sofa in the middle of the room that looked quite plain. It rested on a light grey carpet, next to two black armchairs. Finally, the floor was made of birch planks that were polished.

"What happened? Is something wrong?" I asked.

"I don't know. I just hope she makes it back," Chad answered. I heard the footsteps again but before I could turn around to face the mysterious person, my friend and I were ambushed and we fell to the floor unconscious.

About a week ago, I was suffering from the boredom of having no case. Finally, the Inspector had given me a case. It was supposedly a brutal case, and the victim, man by the name: Peter Black, was murdered in his flat. I decided it was time I take a walk, from 221b to 36 Hill Street was only about a mile and a half so I had nothing to worry about. However, I think I was being followed. I kept telling myself I was fine and eventually brushed it out of my mind. Immediately, as if my nightmare was coming true, I turned around and saw someone watching me. Their face was unrecognisable from where they stood in an alleyway across the road. Thankfully, I was quite near the crime scene so I continued walking along the pavement until I met with Constable Lawrence Hickory.

"Oh, hello Walker," Hickory said.

"Good evening constable," I replied.

"Well, well, well. What have we here?" a woman began. It was her. That damned Donovan.

"Oh look! It's the Freak!" Anderson cried eagerly. I stared at them sternly for a moment.

"You two are in a relationship?" I asked. Then, I took a few steps closer. They both looked up at me with a confused glare, "First, Donovan's knees are bruised. She wasn't cleaning the floor because she uses a broom, evident by the bristles on her skirt. So clearly, she was getting on her knees for another reason. Second, Anderson, you smell of floral perfume. Your usual cologne smells of coffee or rather tea. Therefore, you were with a woman. And might I remind you, Donovan uses floral perfume. Usually, a perfume that smells of roses. Like the one, you are currently wearing. Third, you are both bloody exhausted. It's obvious from your slouching and the bags under your eyes. But also the discolouration of your skin. Going to bed late can really do that to you."

"Ugh..." Donovan groaned in frustration, "Whatever, Freak."

"Allow me to investigate," I insisted. I strode forward to Constable Benjamin Campbell. Before I made it to him, I stopped. There were faint, dusty footprints in the pavement. I bent down and measured them. About a size nine and a half, the bootprint was round, it could have belonged to a gardener evident by the particles of dirt, and grass. I took a sample and photographed the footprint for later reference, "Hello, constable," I said to Benjamin.

"Hello, Ms Walker," he grinned, "I see you already found some evidence," He then frowned, "There was a power outage. I suggest you take this lantern with you," Benjamin gave me a lantern and stepped aside, granting me complete access to the scene. There was a long hall, and towards the end was the only door that was unblocked, "Oh um."

"Is there something you need to tell me?" I queried.

"Yeah. I think the door down the hall is locked. You may need to pick it." Benjamin answered, nudging my shoulder.

"I see. Thank you, Benjamin," I ambulated through the dark hallway with the lantern in my hand. He was right. The door _was_ closed. I tried several times to unlock it with my lockpicks but it was not locked. I realised the door was stuck, so I had no choice but to break the door. I drew my revolver, instantly alerting Hickory and Campbell. With a violent strike, I kicked down the door.

"Are you okay in there?" Benjamin called.

"Yes, of course. Nobody is here," I answered. I decided I'd investigate the body first. The victim was pinned to the wall with a harpoon. The poor man grimaced while he died, he was obviously in pain as he died. Therefore he probably didn't die immediately, but rather blood loss. I wouldn't know until I'm given the autopsy. Also, because of his clothing, he knew his attacker. I slipped on leather gloves and began to scurry to work. His parents and probably wife were also dead as these were their death certificates. The victim owned several logs on a shelf, of the ship he was previously captain of, The Deep Voyager. There were whale teeth displayed on the shelf, like a trophy. But I could also see the outline of a box in the dust, no larger than a book. I would look for it as its disappearance may have something to do with the motive of the crime. I arranged the files in a folder and placed them into my briefcase, along with the dust sample from outside. Mr Black was a harpooner, how ironic. On the floor, in his blood, lay a sea knife. Blood was on it. According to the blood splatter, I'd say the knife was dropped _after_ the attack. I took it and a sample of blood and placed it in a plastic bag. To the side of Mr Black were a notepad and a broken bottle of wine. It seemed Peter was drinking alcohol with his attacker before his murder. As for the notepad, it was dropped after the attack, evident by the blood seeping in from the corners of the paper. I looked around on the floor for a few seconds and found an ill-fitting plank. I carefully removed it with my pocket knife, underneath was a cardboard shoebox containing: a tobacco pouch, tin box, and another small pouch. Perhaps this box was the one missing from the shelf. I picked the box open, and inside were bond certificates. Inside the small pouch was a USB. Of course, the tobacco pouch contained tobacco, with a sort of floral aroma. It was inscribed with the letters: J.B burnt into the leather. Obviously, this was not Peter's. Benjamin ran through the hall.

"Hey, have you finished investigating?" he asked.

"Yes. You may take the body now. I also want an autopsy report on the victim," I answered.

"Okay," Benjamin questioned. He paced down the hallway into the room. I pocketed the tin box and placed the pouches and notepad in my case for examination. "Notify Stevenson. She wants the autopsy!" I heard him shout from the end of the hall.

"Take the harpoon with you as well. I should run an experiment tomorrow, early morning," I insisted.

"Of course," Hickory responded. I gave him a harpoon from a shelf, which he reluctantly took from me. Before I could leave the crime scene, but I was stopped by someone, another constable.

"I don't believe we've met," I said.

"No," he replied, "I just got a message saying I was needed here."

"Seems probable. I believe you are wanted over there," I pointed him to Constable Campbell, where he seemed to be struggling with the body, "I believe you are, Constable Stewarts."

"Yes, I am. Thank you, detective. Nice meeting you," he breathed. He shook my hand, then left to help with escorting the body. I decided to walk again, besides there is no harm in walking. Again, I was being followed as I heard footsteps behind me. Thankfully, there was a large crowd of people. Though, as I drew nearer to Baker Street, I had to be careful of the numerous alleyways. I could have been paranoid, but I suppose better paranoid than dead. I had finally arrived at my flat, only to my surprise, the lights were still off. I was suspicious though, as Smith should've been back with his friend from overseas. I climbed to the balcony of my flat and peered into the window. It was that damn woman. Blanca Adler. She had Smith and his friend tied up, laying on the ground in front of the fireplace. However, Smith's friend was awake. He looked at me confused. Then I ducked to the side of the window, I tried to not be seen by Ms Adler.

I awoke after being ambushed with my dear friend. There was this woman staring me in the face.

"Well, you are finally awake!" the woman exclaimed. She pulled out a whip from the pocket of her vest. She was rather short, and her hair was dyed a fair eye bleeding red, and pulled into twintails. She wore a ribbon choker with a blue jewel sewed on and her vest had buttons of the same gems. The woman wore a short skirt paired with fishnet stockings. Her boots were up to her shin and were engraved with more blue gems. Damn, she really liked those peculiar blue gemstones.

"What do you want with me?" I stuttered. She began to cackle at my anxiety.

"I don't want you. I'm using you as bait, you silly man," she stated. Who could she possibly want to lure here? I decided to look out the window, which was now uncovered. The cyan curtains were drawn to possibly let the moonlight in. I noticed a woman who was peering in through the balcony. Her hair was dark, like the finest dark chocolate. She was rather pale, which made her large, dark eyes glow. She had a rather cute face. She placed her slender finger over her mouth, probably to keep me quiet. I winked at her in compliance. All of a sudden, the woman in front of me snapped her fingers in my face.

"What are you looking at?!" she barked. I didn't reply as the other woman probably wanted. From the corner of my eye, I could see her slip back behind the wall. She was no longer visible from the window. Suddenly, a dark figure flew past me. It was that woman in the window. Her hair was longer than I anticipated and it was quite wavy. She wore a trench coat that reached down her knees. It was dark grey in colour, but not yet black. She wore ankle boots with an inch heel and a lengthy, purple scarf that extended to her breasts. She was cuter than I thought...I stared at the two in dismay.

"Well, Walker. You finally arrive," the red-haired woman stated.

"It seems I'm late to this get-together, Blanca," Walker replied.

"Just beg for mercy, detective. And I will let the men go. Or-" Blanca peeped.

"Or?" Walker discontinued.

"DON'T INTERRUPT ME!" Blanca snapped, "Anyways if you want, you could kill the men and be free."

"Go ahead. Kill them." she groaned. What the bloody heck?! Blanca pointed the gun at us and pulled the trigger. It clicked but, nothing was fired. My friend just began waking up. Chad and I stared at one another with fear in our eyes. Blanca glared at Walker with such fury. I'd say it looked like she wanted to murder Walker.

"Didn't you know I would see?" Walker pointed to her pistol, "There is obviously no bullet in the barrel, knowing you, you likely have one in your pocket. But that's all."

"Right you are. Besides," she started.

"You are saving it for me?" Walker asked. She smirked at Blanca.

"Precisely," Blanca confirmed.

"Fine then," Walker muttered. She lunged towards Blanca. Suddenly, Blanca loaded the pistol with her single bullet. She aimed at her and hastily fired it. The room was smoky, I couldn't see anything.

"Detective?!" Smith cried. The smoke began to clear, she was on the floor. Blanca kept her foot positioned over Walker's shoulder. Her eyes remained closed despite how painful that seemed, I couldn't tell if she was shot. She was just laying there, possibly dead. Immediately, Walker's eyes flew open, and she leapt up, bringing Blanca to the ground. Blanca jumped up as well and drew a knife. She began to chase Walker. At once, Walker was pinned to the wall with the knife, and Blanca was beginning to grab another, the blade that was stuck in the fireplace just behind my friend and me. She struggled out of her coat, but she somehow managed to free herself. She was wearing a somewhat average sized black suit jacket that hugged her curves and revealed how lanky she was. Walker tackled Blanca to the ground, forcefully taking her arms and cuffing them in handcuffs she kept attached to her belt. Blanca seemed to be out cold, but I wouldn't be so sure. Walker arose and instantly began to call someone, possibly the police. When she got off the phone, she rushed over to my friend and I and began to carefully untie us. I quickly stood to introduce myself to her, but she seemed busy. "I thank you, detective," my friend stated.

"Not a problem, Smith," she stated, refusing to take her eyes off of the file she composed.

"I can take care of Adler if you wish," Smith asserted.

"That would be wonderful," she replied. As Chad said, he took Blanca away in a police cab that just arrived. A constable had approached her with a manilla folder.

"The autopsy as you asked," the constable said. He then left with Chad which left me alone with her.

"I guess it's just us," I affirmed.

"Yeah," she answered, she seemed quite detached. A part of me wanted to talk to her, despite the fact it was seriously late.

"So," I started, "if I may ask, who are you?"

"Smith never told you?" she asked, distrustfully.

"Not exactly," I admitted.

"Well then, Shakira Walker, Consulting Detective of Scotland Yard. We will be working together. Also, I hope you don't mind that I am your flatmate. People tell me I have habits that get on their nerves. Such as my violin playing," she proclaimed. We shook hands.

"Why would I mind?" I inquired.

"I sometimes play at around 3 in the morning. I hope it doesn't bother you," she explained. Shakira lay a briefcase on her desk. Inside were documents and several pouches and other things that were probably clues. After staring at it hesitantly for about a minute, she closed the case and pushed it aside.

"My friend has told me much about your abilities, I was wondering if you would care to demonstrate them," I invited.

"Fine then," she replied. Her piercing eyes stared at me for a tedious minute. After what felt like more than a minute or two she once again spoke, "Mr John Cook Glenn, yes?"

"Indeed," I answered.

"You're a military doctor. Shot in the left shoulder. The colour of your skin is a darker unnatural olive. You've been in the tropics. Considering the circumstances, likely Mexico. Your phone is slightly damaged likely a hand-me-down from a sibling with alcohol abuse problems. You're caring, evident by your attentiveness to what I'm saying. You seem polite, and gentle natured based on the denial you've had thus far. You probably learned to behave this way by living with another woman, perhaps your sister. The bracelet on your left hand suggests she is much younger than you. The bracelet reads the year, 2006. Likely a present from her when she was between 8 and 10 years old. Since you seem to be in your late 20s, I presume you were about 16 at the time. That means now your sister would be about 21 years of age, the legal drinking limit. She likely experienced something heartbreaking, like a spouse leaving her which likely started the alcohol abuse. Also, my best assumption is that you are curious considering you are literally asking me to read you," she proclaimed.

"Indeed, you're right," I cried. I was quite astounded, "How did you do it?" However, she remained silent and instantly looked away from me.

"You should go to sleep now, we have a long day tomorrow," Shakira insisted.

"Ah, yes. Why not you?" I suggested.

"If you require anything from me, I will be here. I have an experiment to conduct," she asserted. I reluctantly left her alone to work on her 'experiment.'


End file.
